


The Sneeze

by whatthefoucault



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Away Mission Gone Wrong, Awkward Flirting, Bones is So Done, Dorks in Love, Food, M/M, Sick Bay, spirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 11:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13363818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefoucault/pseuds/whatthefoucault
Summary: In which Spock recovers from an away mission, and Kirk attempts to ask a personal question.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been on a binge-rewatch of TOS for a while now, and at some point I realised that I've never actually written for Star Trek, and here is my attempt to correct this.

The sounds around him were muffled and confused, his eyes unfocused against the too-bright blue-green light, as though he were surfacing from deep underwater. The captain - Jim - was there when he came to, the soft tapping and pinging of the medical monitors setting a slow, unsteady rhythm in the room. Spock had _felt_ him there before he felt his hand being held: a familiar, reassuring presence, a warmth that blanketed the edges of Spock's awareness whenever Jim was near. He felt comforted, he felt sure. He felt safe.

"Jim." His voice was a ragged whisper.

"Spock," Jim smiled, grasping his hand just a little firmer. Spock hoped the captain would not notice the point-zero-zero-two percent jump in his heart rate in response to the contact. "Welcome back."

"What happened?"

As soon as the away team had beamed down, he had set to work examining some of the more intriguing examples of the local plant life - the next thing he knew, he was waking up in sickbay, slightly dazed but in no other apparent ill health.

"A severe allergic reaction, apparently," Kirk told him. "Seems like Vulcans and some kind of pollen on Tagiortorpok don't mix."

"The away team - "

"Are absolutely fine," Jim assured him. "Though you did throw up on Chekov's uniform."

Spock blanched at the thought. "I shall convey my apologies directly," he said.

"Ah, I don't think he took it personally," Jim shrugged. "Hey Bones, he's awake, get in here!"

Dr. McCoy was very thorough in his explanation of exactly what had happened to Spock in the intervening period between his initial shock and waking in sickbay, including the team's efforts to isolate the likely allergen, thus hoping to avoid a subsequent episode on any other planets the Enterprise may visit. The doctor insisted in no uncertain terms - despite Spock's protestations of having returned to optimal health - that he spend the remainder of the day in sickbay, to monitor his condition in the event that any symptoms may recur, and indeed, it seemed prudent to defer to the doctor's expertise in this case. While the captain's duties required his presence on the bridge, Spock busied himself with reviewing reports and drifting in and out of sleep. Jim returned as soon as his shift had finished, to keep Spock company for dinner.

The evening meal was adequate. The dark green kale in the vegetable soup was a welcome addition: an excellent source of many vitamins and minerals, and the texture was not unpleasant. He dipped one corner of a triangle of unbuttered brown toast into the soup. Adequately toasted, he thought: the contrast in texture was good, but not so darkly done as to be verging on the carcinogenic.

The captain's dinner was significantly more piquant, but Spock had to admit that at least the potent spices infusing the broth - and the garish slices of red chilli scattered over it - were beneficial to the human digestive and immune systems. However, the waves of ginger and star anise wafting over from Jim's side of the table were making Spock's nose itch.

"Spock," said Jim, apropos of nothing, "I'm an idiot."

Spock raised an eyebrow.

"I'm afraid I must respectfully disagree," he said, setting the remainder of his toast down. "We have known each other for many years, and I can confirm that while you may at times be quite emotionally motivated, you are easily one of the most intelligent humans I know."

"Right - thank you - but. Spock," the captain insisted, shovelling a mouthful of noodles into his mouth, "I'm an idiot."

Spock sighed. "Would you care to elaborate, captain?"

"Spock. You know how Vulcans go through the... pon farr every seven years, which is resolved by, among other things... _fraternising_ with an appropriate partner," Jim began, with some apparent difficulty. It was all Spock could do to keep the verdant blush from spreading across his cheeks and out to the tips of his ears. He willed it down, but dreaded the end of this line of enquiry.

"Yes, as you well know, I am aware," he confirmed.

"What I'm trying to say is that I've been labouring under the assumption that what this means is that Vulcans _only_... fraternise, as it were, once every seven years," Jim continued, his speech littered with ineffectual hand gestures suggestive of the somewhat euphemistic nature of his choice of words. "But it occurs to me - what I'm trying to get at is - I mean. Spock. If it's not too indelicate a question..."

"I have a feeling you're about to ask a _very_ indelicate question," Spock confirmed. "But by all means, continue."

"That is to say. Spock." The captain seemed to be struggling to find his words. "What I'm trying to ask, if it's not too personal, is... well."

Spock was unable to pretend that he did not know entirely well where this was going. His choice was either to attempt to protest that it was, in fact, much too personal, or to lead the conversation to its logical conclusion directly, thereby putting Jim out of his misery.

"Captain, if you're trying to ask whether Vulcans are capable of being... _intimate_ , in the seven year period between one pon farr and the next, I can assure you that they can, and that it is nothing out of the ordinary - although, as something that Vulcans consider a highly personal matter, it is not typically discussed so candidly outside the confines of an intimate partnership." Spock felt sure the tips of his ears were blushing like a thousand glasses of freshly squeezed kale juice, and he was hardly one to exaggerate such things. 

Jim nodded. "I mean, not that it makes any difference to me, of course," he said, seeming not to know quite what to do with his hands. "After all, there's plenty more to a partnership than just, well... sex. But I suppose there isn't much in the way of logic in romance, either."

Spock found that he had lost all interest in finishing his soup.

"Logically speaking, it stands to reason that if two individuals both wish to initiate a romantic partnership, that it is in their mutual best interest to do so," he said.

"Why Spock, I've never known you to be such a hopeless romantic." Jim let out a soft chuckle. It was endearing.

"Hardly," countered Spock; at least, it was his quiet wish that his own affections were not, as the captain put it, hopeless. "A relationship based on mutual respect, support, and trust, can be of great benefit to the personal and professional development of both individuals concerned. It would be illogical to subject oneself to the stress of denying such a beneficial arrangement, if both parties agree."

"So you're saying I should ask you to dinner." It was somewhere between a statement and a question, but the hand resting on his arm and the hopeful smile that met his gaze was suggestive of something that Spock wished Jim would just come out and say directly. Spock could feel a warmth - perhaps anticipation, perhaps hope - fluttering through his core, that he found himself unable to blame on the soup.

"I'm afraid I do not follow the logic of your suggestion, Captain," he said. "We share meals together nearly every day. We're literally having dinner as we speak."

"I meant a more special meal than... replicated soup," Jim clarified. "Spock. Champagne. A ten course dinner. At least three of which are dessert. Chocolate fondant. Chocolate fondue. Flowers. A proper courtship."

Spock drew an almost unsteady breath. "Captain - Jim - is this your very roundabout method of telling me that you wish for our relationship to be - "

"A relationship, Spock, yes!" he confirmed, grasping both of Spock's hands, then taking a moment to collect himself following the outburst, setting Spock's hands back down, and folding his own at a respectful distance. "You must have figured out by now that I'm crazy about you. And I know this isn't the first time we've been in danger, but... when they beamed you back from that planet, half-conscious and the colour of creamed spinach, I - it was all I could do to keep from folding you into my arms, then and there."

It was all Spock could do to keep himself from expressing an emotion.

"If you had," he said softly, "I would have welcomed it."

"Spock, are you..." his expression was searching, hopeful.

"I'm telling you that the feeling you have just expressed, is one that I share, most deeply," Spock assured him, bringing their hands together once more, comforted by the warmth he found there.

Jim's smile was radiant with gratitude. "Thank you."

"Jim, when you asked about the pon farr," Spock began carefully, "you're saying that if Vulcans only mated once every seven years, you would have been willing to wait that long to become... intimate."

"Yes, of course," Jim told him.

"That is admirable," whispered Spock, relishing the wave of belonging that washed over him as he pressed their fingertips together, the long-smouldering embers of their bond igniting into perfect flame, "but I do not wish to wait a moment longer."

\---

"Okay, how's the brave little Vulc - " came the almost cheerful voice of Dr. McCoy as he strode into the room. Spock immediately righted himself, straightening his posture, hands folded in his lap. Jim, on the other hand, was attempting - and failing - to lean nonchalantly against the tray table, as though they had not just been deeply entangled in a tender embrace. "Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me."

"Oh," beamed Jim, as casually as he could, "umm. Bones. Hi."

Dr. McCoy let out a weary sigh. "Starfleet Medical rule number one: NO CANOODLING IN SICKBAY."

Spock could feel himself blushing again, no doubt almost the colour of the patina on an old Earth penny.

"While I must apologise for the... inadvertent public display of affection, Doctor," he said, "I'm not convinced that is an official rule."

"Well it is now, because I said so, you damn... rulebook on legs," insisted Dr. McCoy.

"Sorry Bones," said Jim, apparently unable to keep from smiling. "Is your patient ready to be discharged yet?"

"Yeah, I don't see why not," replied Dr. McCoy. "Just contact sickbay immediately if you notice any other symptoms, otherwise pop by on the way to the bridge in the morning for an antihistamine top-up. And in the meantime, go get some rest. And I mean rest, Spock. Not work, not hanky-panky. Rest. Your system's been through a lot today."

"Understood, Doctor," Spock confirmed, allowing Jim to help him gingerly hop off of the bed. He allowed his hand to linger in Jim's for three point five seconds longer than was strictly necessary.

"Off you go, then," the doctor instructed them, taking Spock to one side as Jim continued in the direction of the turbolift. "Just one more thing."

"Is there something else I should be aware of regarding my anaphylactic episode?"

Dr. McCoy shook his head. "So how long have you two been, well, canoodling, behind your old pal Bones' back?"

"Since approximately four point six minutes before you entered the room," Spock told him. It was strange to think that it was so new, and yet so harmonious, so familiar.

"Well then, it's about damn time." There was an obvious fondness that hinted at the edges of the doctor's exasperated tone.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Thank you, Doctor," he said.

Dr. McCoy clapped him affectionately - albeit with significantly more force than necessary - on the shoulder. "Go get 'em, tiger."

Spock failed to see in what way his newfound relationship rendered him a large Earth feline, but accepted the spirit of the compliment graciously, and proceeded down the corridor. Jim was waiting for him by the turbolift.


	2. Epilogue

"Here's the report you wanted to see." Bones handed the PADD to the captain, but he could see that Jim's attention was elsewhere.

"Bones, aren't you ever going to take that sign down?"

Bones gazed affectionately at the large placard that he had fixed to the sickbay wall, which read:

_NO CANOODLING IN SICKBAY_

in large, very serious letters, and then:

_(especially you, Captain. And you, Mr. Spock.)_

in slightly smaller letters, but no less serious for it.

"Over my dead body," he said. And he damn well meant it, too.


End file.
